


valence

by Bluebluebaby



Category: Last Tango In Halifax
Genre: F/F, honestly judith is kind of weirdly hot i can't be alone in thinking this, i have no excuses but many apologies, or something, sometimes it takes a threeway with your ex-husband's mistress, to realize you were in love with your best friend/stepsister all along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29952009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebluebaby/pseuds/Bluebluebaby
Summary: Gillian encourages Caroline to take up Judith on her offer of dinner, and gets far more than what she bargained when Caroline manages to invite them both along.(threesome crack with an underpinning of pining and l o v e )
Relationships: Caroline/Gillian/Judith, Gillian Greenwood/Caroline McKenzie-Dawson
Comments: 34
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> @viviandarkbloom this one's for you <3

If there’s one thing that Gillian Greenwood has learned in her five decades on this earth, it’s that joy has a diminishing return. 

Think about it: as a baby, literally every experience is a new wonder to behold. The very act of feeling is novel! But people age, they suffer, they lose their capacity to marvel at the world around them. The kicks get fewer and far between; yhat’s why it’s vital to hold on to the things that bring happiness, and hang on for the fucking ride. 

For example: seeing Caroline flustered. That’s ‘Christmas morning for a five year old’ levels of joy, right there. And less easily anticipated or consistent, frankly. 

So when _Judith_ decides she’s been in love with Caroline this whole time, well, Gillian encourages it. 

Can’t be turning away laughs in _this_ economy. 

“I’m just saying, Caz. She’s fucking loaded, honestly better-looking than that horrid woman at school, and if nothing else you’ll have a helluva story to tell me when all’s said and done.” 

Caroline frowns.

(It would be cosmically unfair how lovely Caroline looks when she’s cross, Gillian thinks, if she didn’t have the benefit of witnessing her loveliness.)

“So let me get this straight—”

“— I’d say it’s pretty gay—”

“You want me to have dinner with Judith because it will be entertaining to _you_?” 

“I really ask for _so_ little, Caroline,” Gillian pleads, pulling out the pout she only uses on special occasions. (Thus far it’s gotten her a holiday in Barcelona and the last glass of wine on at least two nights out.) 

“Why don’t _you_ go to dinner with Judith?” Caroline scoffs. 

Gillian rolls her eyes. 

“She’s not in love with _me.”_ (Not that Gillian can fault her for her taste.) 

“Listen, Gillian, I think she’d be in love with anything that was half as insufferable as John and had a decent pair of tits at this point.” 

“Aw, you think my tits are decent? Flatterer,” Gillian grins. 

“Changing my mind about that insufferable part, though,” Caroline sighs. 

Her phone rings. She glances at the caller ID in dismay.

“Speak of the devil and she shall appear.” 

“Put her on speaker!” Gillian rubs her hands together gleefully. 

Caroline shushes her with a finger to her lips ( _don’t think about how nice her expensive hand lotion smells, Greenwood_ ) and takes the call with her other hand. 

“Judith, _hi_.” 

Gillian loves this voice of Caroline’s, when she’s at her wit’s end with someone who’s either too dim or self-obsessed to realize it yet, but for all outward appearances she’s being perfectly polite. It’s perhaps the most pretentious thing about her, although that competition is fierce. 

She hears muffled rambling on the other end of the receiver, presumably Judith waxing poetic about Caroline’s calves, or the cleft of her chin, making allusions to Greek Myths or opera, most likely. 

“Listen, Judith, no need to turn on the charm just yet, okay? I’ve given it some thought, and you know I _do_ think dinner might be nice—” 

Judith begins another monologue, and Caroline rolls her eyes, before raising an eyebrow at Gillian and smirking. 

“—but I have just one favour to ask. You see, Gillian’s been having _such_ a hard time lately, and I just really think she could use the company. What do you say we make it a girls’ night this time, start things off low-pressure?” 

Gillian vaguely makes out a pitying acquiescence on Judith’s part before Caroline hangs up, fluttering her hands as she attempts to disconnect without being too rude (not that Judith would notice either way).

When Caroline turns to face her, smug as hell, she can only open her mouth in shock. 

“You… _bitch_!” 

“Everyone’s happy, hmmm?” 

(Her voice is lethal like this: soft, silky, cloying. Caroline need not raise her volume to inspire fear and trembling in the hearts of men and women alike. Jesus, any more time spent with her and Gillian’s going to start speaking like bloody John, at this rate.) 

“You know, I would’ve gladly been your wingwoman, Caz, you’ve seen me at the women’s disco, but did you really have to make that Judith feel _sorry_ for me?” 

Caroline shrugs, taking a sip of her wine (in retrospect, the fact that they were drinking when this decision was made informs much of what follows). 

“You said you wanted me to regale you with tales of Judith, I figured I could do you one better and let you be a fly on the wall. The ends justify the means.” 

“They’d better,” Gillian grumbles.

_

Judith greets them at the door of her very un-humble abode with lingering cheek kisses for Caroline and a squeeze on the shoulder and long, sympathetic look for Gillian. 

(She manages not to stick out her tongue until Judith’s turned away; regardless, Caroline whispers a jab about never taking her anywhere, so Gillian sticks out her tongue at her, too.) 

Dinner is awkward at first, what with Judith gazing adoringly at Caroline while Caroline chews her salad as slowly and methodically as possible, so as to avoid engaging in conversation. She’s like one of Gillian’s ewes, if Gillian’s ewes were incredibly intelligent and unattainable human women. 

Gillian takes a hearty gulp of her wine. 

“So, Judes, good on you for finally kicking John out. Did Caz tell you he tried to crash with her? Almost feel sorry for the bugger.” 

Judith covers Caroline’s hand with her own, rubbing her thumb reassuringly over Caroline’s (soft, Gillian knows from experience, couldn’t forget if she tried) skin. 

“I can’t say I blame him for having hope you’d take him in, but I think we both know you need someone who can hold her own, hmm?” 

It’s only Caroline’s deft retrieval of her own hand, sliding it gracefully into her lap, that prevents Gillian from retching. 

(Caroline will surely have something to say about karma on the ride home; but then again, that would require Gillian voicing her discomfort with the visual, which will never happen in a million years, because the whole thing about being hopelessly in love with Caroline is that it’s just that. Hopeless. No need to add ego-smashing in to her emotional masochism, too.)

“I’m just glad he didn’t come knocking on my door again,” Gillian scoffs. “He’s like a baby duckling, imprinting on the nearest woman, innit?” 

“Baby ducklings are _cute_ ,” Caroline frowns, vehemently disagreeing with the analogy. 

(Gillian wants to kiss her furrowed brow. She rips apart a roll with altogether too much force instead. )

“You know,” Judith slurs (apparently she is neither on the wagon nor had the manners to wait until their arrival to start drinking),”we’ve _all_ had the misfortune of sleeping with John. It’s like the worst secret sisterhood ever!” 

(Gillian prefers _not_ to think about the word sister in close proximity to Caroline; it sort of complicates the whole fancying the pants off of her business.) 

“More like the world’s worst threesome,” Gillian snorts. 

Caroline looks surprisingly thoughtful, hesitating for a moment before sharing with the class.

“I thought about asking John for a threesome once, in an effort to save my failing marriage and not suffocate under the weight of heterosexuality. Too much fucking planning, though, impossible to pull off with kids in the house.” 

Judith takes a drag on a cigarette (Gillian’s not entirely sure where it’s come from, but you do you, Judes), exhaling slowly. 

“I love a _menage a trois_. They got me through graduate school, frankly.” 

“You’re telling me the navel gazers in your MFA managed that much coordination? John followed me around like a puppy for months before I gave him the time of day. I refuse to believe writers spend as much time having sex as they do coming up with terrible metaphors for sex.” 

Gillian purses her lips and shakes her head. 

“ _Someone’s_ clearly never read James Joyce’s love letters.” 

Judith cackles, eyes sparkling with mirth, and Gillian feels victorious, to have her attention. It’s not even that she wants it for herself, but having it directed away from Caroline… that’s a battle worth fighting. 

“Oh, Gillian, I can tell you’re a _riot_ in bed, aren’t you? I mean, John was clearly taken by you, but the man was also drunk for a good few years at that point, so I was never quite sure how much was projection on his part.” 

“Yeah, well, he couldn’t keep it up long enough for me to demonstrate the range of my abilities,” Gillian mutters into her glass, as Caroline inelegantly chokes on her own mouthful of wine. 

Caroline redirects the conversation back to classier fare as they finish the meal; book sales, Judith’s thoughts on film and tv adaptations of her work, where she’s getting inspiration these days. Judith’s longwinded responses give Gillian time to gaze at the silhouette of Caroline’s face, admiring the way her eyes manage to look sincerely interested even as her tight smile indicates she’d like to be anywhere but here right now. Gillian keeps waiting for her to be _less_ beautiful, for her to look up one day at Caroline and find her utterly ordinary, but every synapse in her brain is hardwired to adore the woman. Even with the fog of alcohol, they’ve had enough practice firing that the adoration feels as automatic as breathing. 

Caroline catches her staring, turns briefly to mouth “ _what_?” and Gillian looks back down at the table, murmuring something about how Caz had spinach stuck in her teeth even though her mouth’s been closed this whole time. 

Judith’s housekeeper clears the table and the hostess ushers them into the living room, inviting both Gillian and Caroline to join her on either side of a posh sofa. (Gillian’s always preferred farming sheep to cows, but she knows expensive leather when she’s sat upon it.)

“You know,” Judith purrs, placing a hand on each of their thighs. (Caroline looks at Gillian with rising panic; Gillian swallows a laugh.) “I’m obviously still very taken with you Caroline, but Gillian, your comment got me thinking. We’ve eliminated the middle man—”

“—see what you did there,” Gillian mutters. 

“—why not make the worst threesome ever the _best_ threesome ever?” 

Caroline scoots as far away as she can without leaping to her feet. 

“I’m sorry, Judith, do you make this kind of proposition frequently? Because my dinner parties do _not_ end like this.” 

“Lighten up, Caz,” Gillian insists, feeling the instinctual rowdiness that arises whenever Caroline’s stick up her arse makes its presence known. 

_“Really_ , Gillian,” Caroline’s voice drops an octave, and Gillian’s reflexive ribbing now feels like a golden opportunity ,”you’re saying you’d be _interested_ in a threesome with _Judith_ ? Not to mention _me_ ? Miss ‘ _even though I only ever wear jeans and Converse I’m remarkably heterosexual once you get to know me_?’” 

“Well it’s not gay if it’s a threesome,” Gillian explains, ”that’s just like, being fun. And cool.” 

(Okay, she’s more than a little pissed now. Not helping her arguments, all the wine.) 

“I am grateful every day that I didn’t know you in your twenties,” Caroline sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Listen,” Judith implores, “you’re never too old to broaden your horizons, Caroline. Embrace the unknown. Let it _transform_ you.” 

Caroline pauses, looking between the two of them. She weighs her options between dragging Gillian out of here by her ears or embarking on sexual misadventure, and miraculously, terrifyingly, _wonderfully,_ chooses the latter. 

“Can we agree for starters that regardless of what happens, we all pretend we were too drunk to remember and we never speak of this again?” 

Gillian nods gamely. She’s kept far worse secrets in her time. 

“And the _moment_ anyone is remotely uncomfortable we put a stop to the madness?” 

“Of course, darling,” Judith coos. 

“You got it, babe,” Gillian winks. 

It’s not that her existential terror about Caroline discovering how she feels has abated, but she feels a familiar swell of confidence at the prospect of having a good roll in the hay (or extremely high thread-count bedsheets, as it were). 

Gillian may not have a PhD or fancy car or even a working knowledge of world events, most days. 

But damn if she doesn’t know how to fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know what i'm doing but i sure do appreciate the beta assistance from @knebworth and @cardeloons

Judith  _ knows _ that she’s ridiculous. 

When one becomes self-parody, it’s best to lean into it; exaggerate the level of drunkenness, speak in flouncy metaphors, embody every archetype of an evil queen or wicked stepmother. 

(She is, after all, an expert in reimagining fairy tales.) 

She feels a bit like a puppetmaster at this juncture, watching Caroline and Gillian eye each other up, glancing her way every now and then but not ever fully focusing on her. 

From a storytelling standpoint, their connection is clearly more compelling, almost Shakespearean in its twists and turns. Judith doesn’t often consider Caroline and Gillian together (for Caroline is enough to ponder on her own, more than enough), but their contrasts are striking. A similar defiance in each of them that manifests quite differently: the proud flare of Caroline’s nostrils versus the broad posture of Gillian’s shoulders; subtlety versus frankness. In the scene before her Judith sees the clear silhouette of an aloof queen and her rugged knight in shining armor, there to save her whether she wants rescuing or not. 

Her own longing for Caroline is inspiring in its way, but to be a writer is to traffic in idealizations and anticipations, to be perpetually imagining things instead of living them. Perhaps that’s why she and John had stumbled along as long as they had, thinking theirs some novella of forbidden love and transcendent artistry. When you’ve fallen down in the gutter, you’ve a beautiful view of the stars. 

It occurs to her, watching the silent trust that’s clearly been established between Caroline and Gillian in the years since she had waltzed drunkenly in and out of their orbits, that were she to reapproach her attempts at novelization of Alan and Celia’s love story, the true romance would be the one unfolding right before her. There’s your element of surprise, your delightful twist, your character foil. There’s the fairytale: not lost love but love that was never imagined at all. 

That’s why John’s treatment of the subject could never work: he still fancies himself the protagonist, his own infatuations the only love story worth telling. 

Judith shudders, both in revulsion for the man and at the remembrance of how many years of her one wild and precious life she wasted on him. 

“So,” Judith clears her throat, draining the last of her wine glass but promising herself that she’ll drink no more this evening (the writing itself is the only thing exciting enough to keep her sober, these days, the potential to draw inspiration from this evening her only chance for salvation). “How would you like to… commence?” 

Gillian turns to meet her gaze, her eyes gone almost translucent. She’s chilling and terrifying, is Gillian, especially when she wants something. 

(What she wants is Caroline, that much is more than clear.) 

“Seeing as Caz is the only one of us who doesn’t shag recreationally, let’s give her a little show, eh, Judith?” 

Gillian moves towards her with purpose, and Judith finds herself the recipient of a firm kiss before she can form a verbal response. Gillian’s body radiates heat— she feels the warmth wrap around her and seep into her bones as Gillian’s strong hands grip her shoulder and caress her face. 

The kiss isn’t nearly as rough as she would’ve expected of a sheep farmer; Judith can’t tell if it’s due to tenderness or simply a lack of commitment to the act, but Caroline’s surprised little gasp in the background is enough to spur her to reciprocate, running her palms along Gillian’s strong back and arching into her touch. 

Gillian pulls away, nods firmly, as if to say “that’ll do, Judith,” before turning to face Caroline, whose face is flushed and glowing. 

“Alright, Caroline?” 

Caroline nods, shaky but sure. 

Judith shakes herself out of her stupor and finds her voice.

“Caroline? Would it be alright if I kissed you?” 

Caroline throws her hands up in the air. 

“In for a fucking penny…” 

  
  


Where Gillian’s kiss was sharp and focused, Caroline’s is languid, slow, exploratory. She’s soft and lovely where Judith is angular and harsh. The idea of the two of them is still a lovely, wonderful thing, but the reality in this moment feels flat, in a way Judith can’t pinpoint, other than the seemingly endless disappointment that is her life of late. 

(In her books, disappointments lead to character growth and overcoming adversity. In her life, they lead to empty bottles.)

Caroline looks similarly dismayed, though she’s polite enough not to say anything. 

She turns to Gillian, excitement and hesitation playing across her dainty features in equal parts.

“Only fair, I suppose.”

“Would be rude not to,” Gillian agrees, shifting nervously in her seat before angling herself so that she can meet Caroline, over Judith’s lap. 

They both lean in, pausing for a moment at the precipice of this shift. Judith feels as if she’s watching an archer pull back her bow, holding her breath for the moment the arrow takes flight. 

It’s Caroline who moves first— surprisingly, perhaps, given Gillian’s previous boldness, but there’s a deference to Gillian’s interactions with Caroline, despite her habit of teasing her. Gillian acquiesces at every juncture, leaning back against the sofa as Caroline kisses her, clutching at the fabric of Caroline’s sweater as Caroline runs a hand down the strong plane of her torso. 

It is, quite frankly, a  _ lovely _ thing to behold. 

When they part, Caroline and Gillian take a moment to stare at each other. The energy in the room has metamorphosed, and Judith feels simultaneously privileged to witness the transformation and as if she’s invaded this private moment. 

Gillian, however, regains her composure, and her control of the scenario. 

“Judith, you know you were very generous to host me and Caroline, perhaps we can repay the favor?” She leans closer, moving Judith’s hair behind her ear, ghosting her lips across her neck. She meets Caroline’s eyes, though her lips never leave Judith’s skin, nodding silently, imploring her to join. 

On a neurological level, the amount of sensory stimulation is sublime; the clean scent of Gillian’s moisturizer against the layered complexity of Caroline’s perfume; the touch on both sides of her body, the quiet hums and sighs as both women attend to her. 

It should be perfect. 

And  _ yet _ . 

The curves against her feel  _ all _ wrong. Judith may have had threesomes before, but a man was always involved (and more than often hard drugs), and now that her fantasy (Caroline, the unattainable ice queen, resplendent in all her glory) is now within reach, she wants nothing to do with it. 

“I think…” 

“Hmmm?” Caroline pauses from pushing the collar of Judith’s blouse off of her shoulder and Judith takes the opportunity to straighten her posture, nudging Caroline and Gillian to either side. 

“I think that maybe this isn’t for me, actually.” 

“You’re f— bloody  _ joking, _ ” Gillian scowls.

“I’m sorry, Judith, what isn’t for you?” Caroline shakes herself out of her daze, and the moment is well and truly broken. 

“You know, lesbianism. Fun to think about, _ very _ nice to watch, but in execution? Not a good fit.” 

“Jesus bloody Christ.” 

“I mean, she’s got a point,” Caroline muses. “If you know, you  _ really  _ fucking know.” 

“I just think,” Judith continues, seeing her future with, for the first time in a long time, hopeful clarity, “That just because I hated John, doesn’t mean I hated  _ men _ . And that maybe I deserve someone who adores me, the way you two so clearly adore each other.” 

“We don’t—” Gillian starts, as Caroline reassures her, ”well that makes a good bit of sense, Judith.”

“And frankly,” Judith continues, feeling her confidence in her decision to chuck John out increase with every word, “I think I can nab someone a lot younger and hotter than him, anyways.” 

“I know some very stupid, very sexy blokes who would love to rock your world,” Gillian nods,”if you don’t mind a bit of sloppy seconds.” 

Caroline slaps Gillian on the wrist for the remark, but the look on her face is purely fond. 

“Anyhow, I’m not averse to watching you two go at it, if you want to stick around. Might inspire my work in progress, I’ve hit a bit of a rut.” 

Gillian eyes Caroline gamely, but Caroline shakes her head and narrows her eyes. 

“Judith, as much as I have… enjoyed this evening, I think it’s best if we leave you to your self-discovery… alone.” 

Gillian looks a tad disappointed, muttering “never get to do anything exciting these days, I swear.” 

Caroline gawks, mouth open, as if the idea that Gillian would’ve actually been looking forward to getting her naked, with an audience to boot, is absolutely mind-blowing. 

(She doesn’t give herself enough credit, does Caroline. Here Judith was thinking she was a proper lesbian, over her!) 

Once she processes this revelation, Caroline grips Gillian by the elbow, grazing her lips over her ear as she whispers, “there will be  _ plenty _ of excitement for you later if you kindly get me the hell out of here.” 

  
  


That puts a pep in Gillian’s step, and she’s halfway out the door before Judith can button her shirt back up and bid them a proper goodbye. 

She finds the silence that envelops the house welcoming, like a soft blanket of snow on a cold winter’s morning. It’s a reminder that she has earned the solitude, that if she cannot play the hero in life, she can sure as shit write her. 

Judith is suddenly sober, and alone, and  _ inspired. _

(Gillian and Caroline will probably still end up having a better night, by the looks of it, but theirs won’t pay out royalties for decades to come.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies if the lack of sexy threesome action was a disappointment; will try to remedy with sexy, YEARNING twosome content in ch 3 x

**Author's Note:**

> next chapter is where things get... interesting. 
> 
> :D


End file.
